


Grief

by RadarsTeddyBear



Series: Ducktober 2018 [20]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Fictober, Gen, Grief, Pre-Series, introspective, prompt: Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadarsTeddyBear/pseuds/RadarsTeddyBear
Summary: If Della hadn’t laid those eggs, she’d still be here, safe and sound.





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: ["Grief"](http://radarsteddybear.tumblr.com/post/169006603389/whumpreads-i-dont-draw-but-ive-been-thinking).
> 
> (Skipped ahead a few prompts, but I'm back to being caught up!)

First came anger.  A lot of anger. Anger at Scrooge.  Anger at Della. Anger at the scientists and engineers who’d built the ship.  Anger at Scrooge’s company for providing the resources to build the ship. Anger at the board of directors for not stopping it.  Anger at all of Duckburg for just sitting there, going about their lives like everything was fine when it so obviously _wasn’t_.  Anger at the _world_.  Even anger at the three eggs that Della had left behind, the eggs that _should_ have been enough to stop her but somehow weren’t.  

Donald had always had a temper.  Even when he was happy and things were going fine, that anger always seemed to be there, simmering under the surface, ready to break through at the slightest provocation.  Sure, he _tried_ to keep it under control.  He read self-help books and took out anger management videos from the library.  He tried counting to ten, deep breathing, visualizing relaxing beaches, even going to the gym.  And sometimes, those things even worked. For a little while. Until Donald got angry enough that he didn’t want to _not_ be angry, and then he blew his top and all the hard work he’d done trying to keep his temper in check.  And that would be that until the next time he decided he needed to tame his temper because he broke something or hurt himself or (once) scared someone.

But now?  Now that anger was there constantly.  It was there when Donald tidied up the boat.  It was there when Donald checked his bank account.  It was there when Donald hunted for a job. It was there when Donald made dinner for himself.  It was there when he checked on the eggs, making sure they were warm and safe and in no danger of falling and breaking and _dying_ just like--

Sometimes, Donald hated those eggs.  They were the real reason that Della was gone.  Of course, he’d never say it out loud, and logically, he knew that Scrooge and Della were really the ones at fault, but if Della hadn’t laid those eggs, she’d still be here, safe and sound.  Of course, they’d all been ecstatic when she had. Everyone had showered her in gifts when they heard the news. Incubators, egg cradles, duckling cradles, blankets, clothes, bottles, carriages.  Someone had even gotten her a blender as a replacement (or supplement; three babies was a lot) for regurgitating the babies’ food. And Della had smiled and laughed and accepted the gifts graciously, even writing thank you notes.  Donald had moved the eggs from their makeshift cradle to the much-nicer store bought one, and Della had shut the rest of the gifts away in one of the spare rooms of the Manor and gone back to her planning and researching for all the adventures she would have as soon as those eggs hatched.

And then she found out that Scrooge had built the _Spear of Selene_ , and, well.

That was that.  

Typical Della, running away from commitment and change.  It hadn’t been the first time, but...why did it have to be the last?

If she hadn’t laid those eggs, she’d still be here.  She’d never have gone out adventuring on her own. Scrooge and Donald would have gone with her, and together they would have made sure that all three got home safely.

Sometimes...sometimes Donald found himself wishing he could trade those eggs to have his sister back.  He wasn’t usually serious, exactly.  If some genie had come down and offered to give him Della back in exchange for the eggs, he would have said no.  One life for the price of three was a lot, even if those three hadn’t hatched yet.

Right?

Ok, there were definitely times he would have said yes without a second thought.  Donald was so _alone_.  He didn’t even have a support group.  He clearly couldn’t trust Scrooge anywhere near the eggs (not that he _would_ have), Gladstone was always off on some free cruise or vacation (not that Donald would have trusted him with the eggs, either), and Fethry was always off prancing all over the world as if he were a nomad.  There was Grandma, but she lived clear on the other side of town. And besides, she was _old_.  She’d already raised two generations of ducks; it wasn’t fair to make her raise a third, no matter how good her health was.  

They’d all come in when they heard the news, of course.  There was no funeral. How could there be?  There was no body.  And without a funeral, Donald could almost believe that she was still out there, somewhere.   _Almost_.  It almost made it easier that way.  But sometimes, he thought it’d have been better if they’d had a funeral.  It would have been hard--it would have been one of the worst days of his life--but at least it would be done and over with.  Like ripping the band aid off. It would hurt a lot at once, but make things easier going forward.  Well, as easy as they could be.

Instead, Donald was forced to slog through each day without her.  Those eggs made it awfully hard, sometimes.

Until they hatched.

Once they hatched, everything changed.  Donald was alone, as he always was, though he called Grandma up on the phone to come over to lend a hand and meet her first great-grandbabies.  And once that was done, she left, promising to check in soon and to be there if he needed her. And Donald was left with three tiny, helpless baby ducklings.

And he knew _immediately_ , as soon as those cracks appeared on little Huey’s shell, that he would never, _ever_ let any harm come to them.  If a genie came and offered him his sister back in exchange for these babies, the answer would be a resounding, unhesitating no.  His temper finally retreated back under the surface, still there, like it always was, but hiding away and making room for other emotions, like love and even happiness.  For the first time since Della had disappeared, Donald had something to live for. With the eggs, he’d just been going through the motions, like doing your schoolwork because you _had_ to and were in the habit of it rather than because you cared.  But now? These babies were his life.

Donald would die for these ducklings.  And he would never forgive Della for dying in spite of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review!


End file.
